


Second to None

by hwe (plumroot)



Category: iKON (Korea Band)
Genre: Artist!Donghyuk, Con Artist!Junhwe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 00:21:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18767362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumroot/pseuds/hwe
Summary: Goo Junhwe, one of the surviving members of an international counterfeiting ring, is recruited by the South Korean police to reveal the identity of the gang's leader, a man by the name of "Artist". At the same time, world-renown painter Kim Donghyuk strives to find out the truth about why the gang killed his fiancé.





	Second to None

**Author's Note:**

> Before you read any further, I should offer my disclaimer. This is (quite literally) based on a film I watched. Any originality in plot is therefore basically non-existent. All I have done is import my own cast/settings, as well as fill in everything to make it readable. Nevertheless, I wish to share this with you all because the moment I finished watching this film I knew it wasn't coming off my mind until I put jundong in it (LMAO).
> 
> I won't reveal the film title until the very, very end because if you decide to read the plot in advance, the entire effect will be ruined (YIKES!!). And if you somehow know this film.. hold your silence pls
> 
> Enjoy.

 

 

 

**2 0 1 2**

**HONG KONG**

 

In a dark cell with only a small window to allow light through a filter of short iron bars, a man laid on the damp floor and listened carefully. He could hear the steady drip of water from a leaking pipe. He could hear his neighbour in the cell across him. A tall and striking man his neighbour was, from the few glimpses he had, with a lined jaw and thick brows. But he did not like to speak much, and at most answered questions apprehensively, as if someone or something had their eyes and ears on him. The man listened to the scraping at the painted wall with a finely sharpened fishbone. He heard the familiar scratch of the bone inside a metal spoon. Then, meticulous concentration and delicate etching as the fishbone touched parchment paper.

       The sound of wheels rolling across uneven floorboards and the clatter of plates signalled the prison guard coming with their lunch meal. Rice, over-blanched greens, and a cut of meat that looked awfully grey in any light. "Mail! Any outgoing mail? Ten dollars!" the prison guard called, voice echoing down the long and dingy corridor. Hands would appear from through the door flap, a banknote and a letter together. The guard accepted the money, and then pasted a stamp onto the prisoner's letter, dropping it in the mail pouch hanging off the food cart. In reaching his neighbour's door, the guard peered through the meshed window tauntingly. "Do you have any money now? I want to see your _real_ money. Not your fake money," he said, with an ugly laugh.

       The man decided this was the time. He started convulsing, making loud and deranged noises and pounding violently on the door. The prison guard panicked. "Quick! Get someone over here! Something is wrong with prisoner 904!" He rushed down the corridor, and the moment the cart was left unattended his neighbour quickly slipped a letter into the mail bag.

       "Thank you," his neighbour said.

       The man sat up on his elbows, clearing the phlegm in his throat. "Sure thing. I'm here until the day I die anyway. You should find some fun out there." His neighbour did not speak Cantonese, so maybe he would not understand. But maybe he got the idea.

       The prison guard had come back with assistance, and so the man continued his tantrum and violently resisting as the authorities carried him out of the cell. With stillness, his neighbour watched from the meshed panel of his door, until eventually a guard approached his cell.

       "The Korean police have come to take you back."

 

 

 

 

**2 0 1 2**

**SEOUL**

 

On the highway from Incheon, in a car escorted by heavily armed policemen, Song Yunhyeong sat spinning an engraved Zippo lighter between his fingers. He had stopped smoking since the incident, but kept the lighter on him. It served as a reminder. In the seats behind him his junior Jung Chanwoo sat beside their suspect.       

       The detective had always been told he needed to keep his emotions in check. His father always said this. If he allowed his inclinations to take over him, he would never succeed in this field. But just the presence of the man behind him made him feel a strong sense of disgust and irritation. He took off his sunglasses, meeting the suspect's eyes in the rear-view mirror. "What are you looking at?" Yunhyeong snapped.

      The man's eyes seemed to falter, and Yunhyeong made sure they did, before pushing his sunglasses back up.

 

 

 

"Two years ago, on February 6th, thirteen armoured truck guards from the Central Bank were killed on a Canadian highway.  In June of the same year, the Phoenix Triad in the Golden Triangle was attacked. 101 dead and 182 injured. September 21st of last year, a murder-arson case at a Cheonan printing mill. Hours later, Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer Kim Hanbin and art dealer Kim Taehyung were found killed in a Gangnam hotel."

       Other than the junior detective reading from his file and pacing around the table where Yunhyeong and the suspect sat facing each other, the room was dead silent. The walls, covered with photographs and articles and notes, all haphazardly made comprehensible by bits of coloured string linking parts of the story together, now seemed trivial considering that one of their main suspects, the man they had pursued for years, was now in the very room. Possibly with all the answers to their questions.

       "All these murders are connected to an international counterfeiting syndicate. The members include: Wong Kunhang from Macau, Kim Jinhwan, Japan national Nakamoto Yuta, Tuan Yien from America, and Lee Jeno. They're all dead, except for two members still at large. You are one of them. And the other is your leader, Artist."

       Chanwoo stopped in step, leaning over the table between his senior and the suspect.

       "He remains completely off the grid. No intelligence agency in the world has anything on him. This photo was taken from a distribution tower on a highway in Canada. This is all that we have." He dropped a blurry black and white photograph onto the table, showing nothing but a man's back profile.

      The suspect thumbed the edge of the photograph, lips trembling.

       Yunhyeong sighed, putting his sunglasses on the table and reaching for his glass of water. He was already tired of the foreplay, the preamble. He wanted to get right to the grit. "Drink up." The man complied, bearing his mug with both hands and bringing it to his cracked lips. He had barely been given the chance to finish swallowing when Yunhyeong continued speaking. "Tell me, who is Artist?" He watched his suspect flinch at his words. "Do you know why he is off the grid? Because he does not leave a trail. He is smart. He kills everyone he suspects of betraying him. If he knows you are here…"

       "And what makes you think he doesn't know?"

       The man had presented a retort, a challenge. But in his eyes spelt fear. "This is the police headquarters. What," Yunhyeong leaned relaxedly back in his seat, "could possibly happen?"

       Very solemnly, the suspect looked up. "If he knows I am here," breath ragged, "then everyone in this room is as good as dead." His eyes began to shake, and he whimpered like a poor wounded animal.

       "Mr Goo. Are you okay?"

       "All of us are going to die!" the man cried in distress.

       Yunhyeong snorted, sparing a glance to Chanwoo whose eyes had narrowed judgementally. "Are you trying to scare me?"

       "Trust me! Just send me back to jail, okay? Please. We are all going to die! Please! Please just send me back to jail!"

       What a fucking joke, Yunhyeong thought. If he believed the first words of his suspects, that would make _him_ the fool. He signalled to his juniors, who responded obediently to his command. "Take Mr Goo out for a rest."

 

 

 

A few days later, a bloodied and shattered Goo Junhwe was escorted out from his cell and back into the same room where the same detective sat at the table, this time with a layer of plastic bags covering the surface.

       Chanwoo pushed the suspect, who at that point felt like a sack of bones, into a seat, forcing him to look at everything laid out on the table. "The skin and hair fibres that we found at the scene of the Gangnam hotel murder have been analysed. They matched exactly with your DNA sample. The saliva on the utensil fragment belongs to you. The oil on the bullet shells also belong to you. The Ministry of Justice has said that the evidence is all admissible in court. So, the police are now officially charging you with murder."

       Junhwe raged, knocking the items off the table as the officers rushed to hold him down. "All that evidence was faked! Who do you think you are fooling?"

      Yunhyeong smiled calmly. He liked this part of the game. "The furniture is real. The bed sheets are also real. The utensils are real. And the DNA is collected straight from you. How well the evidence can be faked, you should know better than me."

      "I am a dead man either way," the man mumbled. "Do you really think you can scare me into talking?"

      "If you are dead either way, then you should make yourself useful first. In a moment, I will tell the world that you sold out Artist for a plea deal. Then I will request Witness Protection. With that, I will send you to a place where Artist can definitely find you."

       "You motherfucker!" Junhwe barked and lunged forward for the detective, like a crazy dog barely being restrained by his leash.

       The suspect's disruptive squall was interrupted by a knock on the door. Yunhyeong silently afforded authority of the room to Chanwoo before following the Deputy Commissioner into a glassed room with a long table. Seated on one side were men in suits, and on the other across them a few senior policemen. As they walked in, one of the men in a suit, an awful blue tartan one, stood up and grabbed the Deputy's hand in familiarity. Yunhyeong strode down the room and sat at the end of the table, across a man in a camel coat. Despite his face hidden behind the large shades and face mask, he recognised him immediately.

       "Hey, Siwon. It has been a while since I have seen you at the golf course. Are you working on a huge case or what?"

       The lawyer smiled in return, but he had not come only for a friendly reunion. "Deputy Commissioner. I am here as Kim Donghyuk's legal representative. We wish to bail Goo Junhwe out."

       "What a fuss. Is he even that important?" The Deputy glanced at the file the lawyer had presented him. "You have multi-national company CEOs acting as his guarantors. Even a member of the State Council."

       "Mr Kim is a world-renowned artist and he considers Mr Goo a good friend."

       "Mr Goo is a key witness to multiple murder cases. We can't just set him free like that."

       "Actually, Mr Goo is the _prime_ suspect of those murder cases. I went to have a look at the evidence at the government labs. The credibility is patchy at best. You are very obviously setting him up." The lawyer set his gaze on Yunhyeong. "My dear nephew, don't you think you are going a bit too far?"

       The Deputy walked up behind Yunhyeong to face the lawyer and his client. "Well, whether the evidence is real or fake, we will find out in court. There, they can also decide _how_ far we can go."

       "Deputy Commissioner Song, do you really need to cradle your son like this?"

       "Rest assured Mr Choi. My son and I are dead set on seeing this to the end. I hear he is a dead man the moment he enters the court room anyway."

       With a voice that was quiet and cold, but commanded attention, the artist gently tugged down his face mask and spoke for the first time. "I did not come here to hear you argue. When there is a will, there will be a way."

       Yunhyeong blinked. "Mr Kim Donghyuk. Do you recognise me? On the day your fiancé was killed, I took you to the hospital."

       The artist seemed uncomfortable, but spared no heed to the amused expression on the detective's face. "I asked you to find a way to set him free. If you can't think of one, then I will just do it my way."

       "Fine! I have an idea," Yunhyeong's father remarked, before his face dropped to show not a hint of a joke. "Make him tell us everything about Artist. Then we will _immediately_ set him free."

 

 

 

While waiting for Goo Junhwe to be escorted into the interview room, Yunhyeong sat with a leg folded over the other, watching the artist sitting across him with interest. The world was not wrong when it said that Kim Donghyuk as a person was as alluring as his artworks were. With blonde hair and porcelain skin, he looked like an angel from heaven. Though, perhaps quite annoyingly, Yunhyeong only kept thinking back to when he found the artist in the Gangnam hotel suite, his hands tied behind him with rope and eyes and ears completely blocked, the splatter of his fiancé's blood ironically artistic on his silken white robe. He had cried and cried and cried, until the skin around his eyes was raw. He was the only person alive in that room.

       The detective heard the stagger, and then pause of nimble footsteps. He could not read the artist's eyes behind the black shades, but he noticed a slight clench of the jaw as the suspect appeared in sight.

       "They offered a deal," Donghyuk said quietly. "If you spill everything on Artist, then they'll let you go."

       Yunhyeong nodded, eyes darting between the suspect and artist. He was very curious. What exactly was the relationship between these two?

       Junhwe walked forward slowly, as if reluctant to approach the artist. "You know that if I talk," he lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper, "we will both be in danger."

       Donghyuk smiled, but it never went past his lips and his eyes were as dead as stone when he pulled off his sunglasses to look at Junhwe. "So, you should know that if I leave right now, then I won't be in danger. Am I not right?"

       The suspect remained still.

       Donghyuk stood up. "If you're not going to talk, then I'm just going to leave."

       "Why are you doing this?"

       Without hesitating, Donghyuk shot back. "Do you really have to ask? The man I love was killed by Artist. Don't I have a right to the truth?"

       Ah. So the artist had come for closure. Yunhyeong spun his Zippo contemplatively between his fingers.

       "You do."

       Donghyuk gestured very theatrically to the seat at the table.

       The detective straightened up as the suspect was pushed down into the chair across him. "Roll the camera please."

  

 

 

It was 1989 in Vancouver. Goo Junhwe met Kim Donghyuk at a small art fair. Despite it being winter, a dark and dull one, Donghyuk wore bright colours and always smiled cheerfully. Junhwe distinctly remembered watching Donghyuk from the distance of his own work stand, and thinking that this person gave him the same feeling the sun did. Warmth, and life.

       At that time, they had both just started out as painters. They were young and hopeful. Donghyuk was an expressionist. He poured his feelings onto canvas, telling every story through his own eyes. His works were confessional. Junhwe was still experimenting. They dreamt that someone would buy their works, and that they would be noticed. They painted and painted and painted, finding inspiration in each other. Eventually, they filled their tiny basement apartment with so many canvases that it lined their walls and covered the floor, like some abandoned museum archive.

       Though, after 6 years later, not a single piece of their artworks had been sold. Art was their dream and they persevered. But that also meant struggle. One night, Donghyuk tried to wash his hands in preparation for dinner.

       "Did you not pay our water?" he asked Junhwe, who was reheating the canned onion soup over the stove.

       "Did you not pay our power?" was Junhwe's answer, just as the lights turned off and gas died like a flame pinched between two fingers.

       He supposed it was right to conclude that the desperation got to him. Junhwe received an anonymous letter from a supposed art dealer wanting to talk about his art. The art dealer turned out to be another Korean man, bespectacled and balding. At the meeting location, which was a workroom of some sort, the man drew the thick curtains and put on soprano music. He then showed Junhwe a picture of Albrecht Dürer's Knight, Death and the Devil from a leather-bound book.

       "How well can you replicate this?" asked the man, if not patronisingly then at least in a tone that told Junhwe he still wasn't being taken seriously.

       "How much can you pay?" Junhwe responded, very seriously.

       It was a terrible venture. Yet, even if he had accepted the dealer's proposal then and there, it was about time he realised he did not have a choice to make. Coming home a few days later, he found a Mercedes parked on the uneven gravel road outside his apartment building. Obvious that there was a visitor, he stopped outside his door to listen.

       "This piece is titled Wind Above the River. Well. I don't _see any_ river _._ Except what looks like someone trying to imitate the style of the Four Great Masters!" The voice belonged to a man with a thick accent. He was a confident man. He probably walked with his back straight and nose turned to the world. Junhwe could tell from his volume. "Mr Kim Donghyuk. Your paintings are creations. They are absolutely brilliant. Masterpieces. They are _original._ Goo Junhwe… only repeats what has been done before! The world only needs one Van Gogh. The second, the third, and whoever wants to come after that… they have no value!"

       Donghyuk sounded calm, postulating his everlasting grace and patience. "I am sorry but… if you don't want to represent Junhwe as well, then I don't want you to be my manager."

       "But your work is incomparable with his! It doesn't even stand-"

       "I do not care."

       "I can sell your paintings! I can take you places! I can take you all around the world! But I can _not_ take the both of you. You are only doing yourself a disfavour."

       And with that, the man stomped outside where he crossed Junhwe at the door. With nothing but a burdening sigh, he left. Inside the apartment, suddenly appearing so small surrounded by the coloured canvases, Donghyuk only bore a sorry expression on his face. It was too late; Junhwe had heard it all.

       But the words did not discourage him. The dealer had a point. Donghyuk was much too kind-hearted and selfless for his own good. It was only holding him back. _Junhwe_ was holding him back. To continue like this would be like clinging to a sinking ship. This could not be fair to Donghyuk, someone who deserved so much more than what Junhwe could give him.

       Junhwe accepted the proposal. It was not something he was proud of, and definitely not something Donghyuk wanted for him. But if it was the only way for Donghyuk to sell his art and get recognition, then Junhwe was willing to do it. He was willing to do it ten times over.

       "Why are you so late?" Donghyuk asked one day as Junhwe stepped into the darkened apartment. Rain splattered loudly on the roof. He remembered that Donghyuk was wearing one of his own knitted scarves.

       "I just ran into Mr Kim. We talked for a while. He said you tried to force him to buy all my works."

       "I-I did not!" Donghyuk answered, flustered. He carefully climbed off the ladder he was on and approached Junhwe. He sounded sheepish. "I only tried to make a deal…"

       Without daring to face Donghyuk, for a fear that his boyfriend would see right through him, Junhwe blew out the candle Donghyuk had lit up and turned on the lights instead. "Don't work with him anymore. Today I was approached by the owner of Darius Gallery. They bought some of my paintings. I've even received a deposit. They also said that one month later, we can open our own personal gallery. We just need to wait one month."

       Through the round wall mirror, Junhwe could see Donghyuk's silent gasp, his look of astonishment. He loved every expression that crossed over his boyfriend's face, and surprise was one he never got tired of seeing. When Junhwe finally turned around to face Donghyuk, he looked so proud that it made Junhwe's heart ache a little. Maybe it was the guilt from lying. But he did this out of love, right? Donghyuk speechlessly embraced him in a tight hug.

       "You will definitely be successful," Junhwe said, burying his face in Donghyuk's hair. "I will make sure."

       "I love you," Donghyuk mumbled back.

       Junhwe started working for the dealer, in some underground workroom. He learned that the dealer, Mr Shin, operated an antiques pawn shop, but made big side money selling replicated art to anyone who believed it. Junhwe didn't probe too much. He was only there to collect his cheque. Donghyuk seemed a lot happier since that day, sitting on the confidence that there was a light at the end of this long tunnel, and Junhwe was remorseful of the fact that it was all based on a lie. Junhwe only wanted to make enough money so they could open their gallery together. So he could make Donghyuk's dreams come true.

       The story probably stood for two weeks. It took for this for Junhwe to realise that he shouldn't make lies so close to home.

       "Hey. Would you get me a new hairdryer or something?" Junhwe turned the dial on the appliance, but the heat did not seem to change strength. An utter piece of waste. "This is way too hot. The paint comes out a totally different shade. It would take someone only 5 minutes to see through it."

       When he heard a pause in the footsteps followed by the sound of a wooden frame hitting concrete, Junhwe turned around. Only that the visitor wasn't Mr Shin. It was Donghyuk.

       "Y-you… forgot a painting. So I went to Darius Gallery." Donghyuk looked around him in disbelief, the light in his eyes fading with disappointment.

       There was no need to say more. Their surroundings explained what wasn't said. Junhwe, with his hands dirtied. Multiple prototypes of the famous artwork hung off the low ceiling to dry. Here and there, attempted replications of this painting. In a way, it felt like they were in a laboratory.

       "You are being too unfair to yourself!"

       Junhwe looked down at his feet. "There is no such thing as fair or unfair. Mr Kim was right, you know. There _is_ only one Van Gogh in this world. Those who come afterwards have no value."

       "There is only one Goo Junhwe in this world! You have your own value!"

       "Look Donghyuk. Look. I painted this picture." Junhwe held up a copy of Knight, Death and the Devil, lines still wet and glossy. "Painting this… I… I felt very satisfied. I felt _happy_. I felt like I was born to paint this. If this is my value, would you accept it?"

       Donghyuk tried really hard to hold himself together, but Junhwe noticed the slight tremble in his voice as he spoke. "You are the person I love the most in this world-"

       "If this is who I am, would you accept it?"

        "Hey. Hey, hey, hey, excuse me. Excuse me."

        The clanking of metal. It was getting louder. Junhwe looked around in confusion. The walls of the workroom collapsed around him, paintings disappearing, and he was back in the interview room, the smell of dust and strong perfume, with the detective impatiently tapping the edge of his Zippo lighter on the table.

       "I don't want to hear _this_ story," Yunhyeong said exasperatedly. He really didn't. He didn't care at all. He wanted to know about Artist.

       " _I_ want to," Donghyuk added from the back.

       "Didn't you want to go home?" Yunhyeong retorted, not in the mood for the artist's smarts.

       Donghyuk smiled flatteringly. "Got it, Sir!" He then glanced pitifully at the suspect, shoulders hunched over the table. "Why don't you let Artist appear soon, Junhwe-ya."

 

 

 

It did not take long for things to work out for Donghyuk. He was a talented artist, he had something special - anyone could see that. He only needed to give himself a chance.

       Donghyuk eventually accepted the offer from Kim Taehyung, the dealer who had pursued him since the very start. His first exhibition was in a small gallery, with white columns reaching the ceiling and a pretty vintage chandelier hanging overhead. It was titled "IN MY ROOM". Donghyuk's works were being marvelled at by the many collectors and admirers who had come. There was champagne, and many praises being given.

       "The day I've been dreaming about has finally come."

       Although Junhwe had not noticed it, Donghyuk had come to join Junhwe at the balcony, overlooking the gallery below. Donghyuk looked radiant, hopeful. Junhwe was happy for him.

       But there was no way they could ignore the elephant in the room. Junhwe swallowed. "Why did you put it there?" He was referring to Wind Above the River. It was displayed with Donghyuk's pieces, something like an old scab sticking out amongst all the big, vibrant strokes of Donghyuk's works.

       Donghyuk smiled gently. "Did you know? There are actually a few collectors interested in buying it."

       "I heard that all of your pieces have been sold. It's just that one left. No one wants it because it is _my_ work."

        "You haven't been home for a few days." Donghyuk reached for Junhwe's hand. "Today, let's not fight here," he pleaded, "please?"

       Junhwe's gaze softened. "Donghyuk, I'm really sorry."

       "… You shouldn't be."

       "Wow." A voice came from nowhere. They looked down from the balcony. It was a man, dressed in a grey suit. He stood in front of Wind Above the River. "Seeing this makes me feel so… emotional. All the techniques of the Four Great Masters have appeared at the same time in one piece of art. Reproduced even more accurately than a copy machine. Does this artist call themselves Photocopier?"

       The room burst into wild laughter. Despite the anonymity, Junhwe felt like the entire room was laughing at him. But what could he do? The man was right. Besides, Junhwe would never let himself ruin Donghyuk's first gallery with his own bullshit.

       "The purpose of art is to allow us to see, in our desolate lives, a kind of ethereal beauty. But seeing this… _thing_ … makes me realise that this world is even more miserable than I ever knew." As the man continued to make a spectacle, Donghyuk started storming down the staircase. Junhwe ran after him. "To have to live as a human being is already a punishment, but just the _thought_ of waking up to see this piece of shit every day makes my stomach churn-"

       Junhwe did not manage to stop Donghyuk from grabbing a glass of champagne and throwing it at the man. "I am asking you to leave!"

       The crowd gasped, but the man smiled confidently before delivering a bow as he exited. What was that? Junhwe glanced to his left and Donghyuk was crying, but Junhwe could only think to run after the man, who he found had already entered his car outside. He didn't want Donghyuk to suffer negatively from this.

       "Sir." Junhwe knocked desperately on the man's window for his attention. The man granted him that. "I am apologising to you on behalf of Mr Kim Donghyuk."

       "I have no opinion towards your boyfriend." The man reached to his passenger seat, toting up a framed print. It was Junhwe's replication of Knight, Death and the Devil. Mr Shin said he had sold it to an art dealer. Was this the man? _"_ My reason for coming today is this piece of art."

 

 

 

"If you look closely at the impressions on the copper, it can be used to estimate the depth of the engraving in the picture." As Junhwe explained, he never let his eyes move off the man, who appeared to be listening with equal interest. "Paper is more complicated, though. Four hundred years ago, a metal screen was used to press the patterns onto the dust-free paper. If you moved the light source, you could see the texture. Kind of like the watermark on a bill."

       They were alone in a local bar. The ceiling felt unusually high. There was something polished and sophisticated about the man he was sitting with. As if he was associated with the finer objects in this world. Maybe it was the suit, or the hairstyle. He smiled like he knew something no one else in the world did. And when he appeared to pay undivided attention to what Junhwe had to say, Junhwe felt vindicated.

       "There is more. If you add in calcium carbonate and lignin, you can get the texture. Nowadays people mostly use vegetable oils. They like it because it dries fast. It is also reliable. I use walnut oil, ash, and pine resin mixed together."

       But what were they even doing here? And what did this man want from him? When the man did not reply, only amusedly sipping his glass of whiskey, Junhwe retrained his eyes shyly down at his hands clasped together above the gingham tablecloth. "Do I sound more like a scientist than an art forger?"

       The man chuckled. "I regret that we are here. I should have taken you to somewhere nicer, ordered an expensive red. Only then would it live up to the craftsman that you are."

       "A craftsman like me?" In Junhwe's head suddenly appeared Mr Kim, deriding his art in front of his own lover. Suddenly appeared his lover, the look of disappointment that even he could not hide. "We belong in the shadows."

       "You do not give yourself enough credit. Whatever it is… if you do it to perfection, then that counts as artistry. As long as you put your heart into it, even fake can become real."

       This surprised him. This man spoke with a kind of conviction Junhwe had never known could even exist. It was refreshing. He wanted to know what that feeling was like. "Do you also forge art?"

       "I make fake art. Such fake art that even the best experts in the world cannot differentiate. Let me tell you something, Mr Goo. In this world, out of a million people, only one can be the leading character. The star. And the only people who can become leading characters are those who achieve perfection. But first, it requires finding the right stage to perform on."

        From inside his jacket, the man presented Junhwe a small card with a set of numbers printed on it. "When you're ready to be the leading character, give me a call."

 

 

 

When Junhwe finally returned to Donghyuk's exhibition in the evening, he was not surprised to hear a loud argument in the empty gallery.

       "I did this all for you, Donghyuk. Invited esteemed buyers from all over the world. And you do _this_?!"

       "But did you not hear what he said?!"

       "Of course I heard what he said. But he was only speaking the _truth_!" Kim Taehyung, in his pinstripe suit which Junhwe always thought looked terrible, looked over and saw the man standing by the door. He did not hesitate to release a disappointed sigh. "God."

       In a strange way, as he watched his boyfriend and the art dealer stand side by side on the podium, underneath the glow of the chandelier light, Junhwe felt like he was losing something. He was not as ignorant as to have had his head in the sand this whole time. Yes, Donghyuk was an exceptionally talented artist, but Taehyung's motivations for pursuing Donghyuk was something beyond merely mercenary. Junhwe had noticed how the dealer, who exuded confidence, and charm when it was essential, spared fond glances to Donghyuk, and the way his hand found its way to the small of Donghyuk's back naturally. They did look good together.

       As Junhwe approached, Donghyuk and Taehyung watched in silence.

       "Really bad, or really beautiful. The clearest evidence of that is whether the painting sells or not." As the last painting left in the gallery, Junhwe's Wind Above the River hung pathetically inside the frame. "I don't care anymore."

       "What do you mean you don't care?" Donghyuk cried. "Are you going to make fake paintings for the rest of your life?"

       The words cut Junhwe's heart, but all he could do was smile. This is what his boyfriend thought of him. The entire world could have its thoughts about him. Junhwe did not care. But Donghyuk, his boyfriend, the only person who mattered to Junhwe, thought this of him too.

       "Sorry," Donghyuk whispered, but this apology sounded guiltier than what he had just said. And Junhwe could not blame him.

       Junhwe put a cigarette to his lips and lit it, before bringing the lighter to bottom of his painting. In a split second, the flames spilled onto the canvas, engorging the artwork in a bright, red inferno.

      All Junhwe was heard was Donghyuk crying hysterically and Taehyung cursing and running for the fire extinguisher as he turned his back and left the gallery.

 

 

 

"Alright. You can tell me now.  Which of the great works do you want to me to forge?"

       At the edge of lake, surrounded by nothing but trees and a damaged hut, inside a car that did not belong to him, was where Junhwe had ended up as a result of contacting the man from Donghyuk's gallery viewing.

       The man studied Junhwe carefully for a moment, and there was no telling whether a million intricate gears were turning in his mind or he was simply amused by Junhwe, before pulling out something from his breast pocket. It was an American hundred-dollar note.

       Junhwe snorted. "Your fee is this low?"

       "I want you to forge this bill."

       Junhwe couldn't be sure that he had heard right. What the fuck? "You're insane." Junhwe immediately got out of the car, kicking at the loose gravel road in madness. This had to be a sick joke.  "Are you fucking insane?!"

       The man calmly followed Junhwe out of the car. "You must not get me wrong. I am not just any random person. I also studied art. What I make is professional fake American bills. You will only be in charge of the manufacturing. Everything else that comes before or follows, I guarantee will not interfere with any part of your life."

       "The kind of person you are - let alone your _name!_ I don't even know. How are you going to guarantee me anything?"

       "My name is Kim Jiwon. Korean. My family has been making fake money for three generations. No one in my family has ever been to prison. Because we follow the rules. We only distribute. Our buyers are people with power and wealth, and they continue to protect us. I cannot guarantee that all I've said is real. But I can guarantee you one thing: the American bills I make is the world's most loved fake art."

       "No matter what you say, black cannot become white. Wrong cannot become right!"

       "Those who only see black and white are destined to be failures. If you don't want to do this, then just pretend we never met."

 

 

 

Donghyuk was moving to America. Junhwe did not have the courage to say goodbye. He watched from a distance as Taehyung came to pick Donghyuk up from their apartment in his black Mercedes.

       In another life, Junhwe would make real paintings and have a better car and Donghyuk would still be around _his_ arm.

 

 

 

The flight attendant courteously placed two glasses of orange juice in front of the passengers before leaving the business class cabin. Jiwon closed his magazine, one about real estate, and smiled at Junhwe beside him. "I thought we had lost you."

       "Sorry. Today Donghyuk is going to America. I sent him off before I came."

       There was a moment of silence where Jiwon sipped his juice. "Once work is done, I will help you win him back."

       "I am here to work for you. You don't need to worry about that stuff. It doesn't concern you."

       "It is _because_ you are working for me, that it concerns me. Did you know that for a majority of men who are able to achieve great things, they owe it all to love? My father once said: a man who gives up on love will never succeed in anything he does."

        This reminded Junhwe of when he first spoke to Jiwon. Jiwon spoke with an impressive conviction. "Then who are _you_ doing it for?"

        Jiwon smirked. The man was also deadly charismatic. "I am in the extreme minority. I don't act for love."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me you know what you think!! Please!
> 
> How do you feel about each of the characters? Don't forget to stan Yunhyeong :))


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